Читать книгу The Tarnished Necklace - Trish Inc. Duffin - Страница 7

Eventually the day came to an end and Peter was volunteered by Grace to take her three little friends home in the wagon. As he didn’t know where their homes were Maria suggested she come along with him. Four little girls were lifted up into the wagon as well as Daisy, her crib and the horses. Maria accepted Peter’s offer of a hand up before he clambered up and scooped up the reins. “Right, where to now?” he asked as they gently moved up the dirt road leading from the house. The first house was Penelope’s home, about three miles away. The entire trip was filled with the laughter of four small girls as they bounced around in the wagon, leaving Maria and Peter to sit in the front and look at the scenery. Peter was dwelling on the day and turned to Maria. “I had a great time today. I didn’t know birthdays could be so nice.” He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth, he didn’t like to talk about his past.

Maria turned to him. Talking to Peter and getting to know him as a single man rather than the husband of her friend was still new to her and she felt both shy and a little unsure how to handle the change in their relationship. She was mystified and realised she actually didn’t know anything of his past, except for a hint of a British accent. “What do you mean? Didn’t you have birthday celebrations as a child?”

Peter paused and looked out onto the road with a small frown on his face. In his eye he could picture his birthdays. Sometimes it was a quiet affair with his father’s brief appearance, one or two friends and his nanny attempting to make things jolly. Usually he was at his boarding school and then his birthday was all but ignored, bar his friends giving him a few gifts. He even got caned one birthday, that wasn’t a good day. “No, not really. My father didn’t have much interest in me as a child. Also I attended a boarding school which obviously didn’t acknowledge every boy’s birthday as there were well over two hundred of us.”

“Boarding school, what is that?” queried Maria.

Peter snorted. “Technically it is a place where young boys are sent to become young men, educated to the highest degree and emerging as men, well-equipped to face the world and be gentlemen of society. In reality it was a place where I was perpetually cold, fed the most awful food and got caned more times than I can count. On the flip side I was away from my home, so that was a bonus. I was surrounded by friends and - yes - I was well educated.”

Maria looked at him, trying to read his face. It had flickered between emotions ending in a grin when he mentioned the caning. She wondered what his childhood was like, but felt it wasn’t a happy one. “You grinned when you mentioned the caning. Dare I ask what that is about? I suspect you were somewhat mischievous and possibly still are.” Then she quietly muttered under her breath, “Poor Jake.”

Peter laughed. “Okay, I’ve been found guilty. You know, you are very observant. I trimmed the hair from Jake’s tail and I gave him a pat on the head in appreciation. Please forgive me for my transgression.” His laughter didn’t quite indicate true remorse.

Maria persisted, “…and the caning?”

He laughed. “Well, I don’t know why they caned me for the toad. It was Frederick’s idea.” He paused, waiting for Maria’s imminent reply, which came.

“Where was the toad?”

Peter explained, “Somehow a toad ended up in a chamber pot in the Head Cook’s bed, alongside some of that awful stew she gave us.” He shuddered at the memory in an exaggerated fashion.

Maria pictured the sight of a toad sitting in a puddle of stew in a chamber pot and a screaming cook in her nightclothes. She laughed, the picture in her head being quite hilarious. “So why did they cane you?” she enquired, barely controlling her laughter.

“Probably because I was spotted with a big toad in my hand by one of the masters on the night, when I was supposed to be studying in my room. Actually, in my defence, I didn’t put the toad in the chamber pot, I merely caught the beast. John supplied the stew and Stanley was the only one brave enough to go to cook’s room with it. We all got caned.” He attempted to look put out and rubbed his backside but they both laughed.

“Oh dear, it sounds like their work was cut out trying to turn you into an English gentleman,” said Maria, wiping a few tears of mirth out of her eyes. “You are English, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” came the short reply and then he quickly switched subject by bringing attention to a rather beautiful birdsong. Maria got the hint he didn’t want to pursue the subject any further but was still amused by his story. She spent the next few minutes imagining the scene of a younger Peter diving through a bog attempting to capture a belligerent toad and another boy attempting to smuggle some stew from a dining room. She shook her head in amusement. She could see the funny memory lurking on his face too.

All too soon they arrived at Penelope’s house and her mother came out to greet them. She stiffened a little when she saw Peter was at the reins. He was the one who brought his Indian wife to their settlement and she hadn’t grieved for a second when she heard of Chenoa’s death. She turned to Maria and smiled.

“Thank you for having Penelope. It looks like she had a lovely time, and thank you young man for bringing her home.” Peter tipped his hat in acknowledgement. He hadn’t forgotten her either and the way she very pointedly snubbed Chenoa one time in the street. Chenoa was in tears later that day because of this lady’s attitude and it had hurt him deeply. However he was polite enough to control his thoughts and smile at her.

Maria and Penelope chatted for a few more minutes. Penelope said ‘thank you’ and they made their goodbyes. Peter flicked the reins and the horses moved down the lane towards Elizabeth’s house. Maria broke the silence. “You’ve got a nice singing voice.”

He turned to her with a bemused look on his face. “How do you know?” he queried.

“I heard you when we sang happy birthday, you were seated next to me,” she replied, thinking back to that moment. Her father couldn’t sing if he tried, her mother could hold a note, but Peter had a lovely voice.

“I got my voice from my mother, apparently she sang well.”

“Doesn’t she sing anymore?” asked Maria, before wondering too late if that was an inappropriate question.

Peter was quiet for a moment before giving the true answer. “She died having me, so I have never heard her voice. People who knew her told me of my mother’s beautiful voice and how she sang in the choir and as a soloist. I gather she played the harp well and often sang for her guests. I was put in the choir at boarding school.” He shrugged and looked at Maria. “I guess I do have a good voice. I just don’t get much of a chance to sing, I don’t know if singing in the fields counts.”

Maria thought immediately of the church choir. She went along to it as did five other people, two who regretfully couldn’t sing if their lives depended on it. “Why don’t you join the church choir?” she innocently asked and then it dawned on her. He had only ever come to church once in all the time they had lived in Sundance.

Peter turned to her and again considered his reply as he didn’t want to offend her. “Thanks for the offer. It’s just, well, ah, you may have noticed I don’t go to church.” Maria didn’t reply though she was sorely tempted to and Peter was taken aback by her silence. He felt she was due an explanation, and that came quietly. “We went there once, shortly after we arrived. However Chenoa and I didn’t receive the warmest of receptions and she spent the rest of the day crying. It was a bit hard sitting there listening to a sermon of Christian love and charity when you could see the women literally cringing from Chenoa.” His hands were tightly clenched on the reins and the muscles in his jaw were tight.

“Sorry,” murmured Maria, aghast that this lovely couple should have received such a frigid reception.

Peter continued, his voice quiet and reflective. “I reckon most people try to ignore the fact that Jesus had brown skin and black hair. His colouring was probably closer to Chenoa’s than your father’s. So it angered me to be surrounded by hypocrites. Don’t get me wrong, Maria, there were a few people who were very genuine, your family included. The majority, however, made it clear that we shouldn’t have come to church that day.”

Maria was quiet, trying to think back to the day. “You know, I have to admit I haven’t given it a moment’s thought about the colour of Jesus’ skin.”

Peter glanced over to her. “Admittedly I hadn’t until that day, and then it dawned on me. I was so angry over the snubbing of Chenoa and the hypocrisy got to me. I will come back to church. Don’t worry, I haven’t rejected God, but I wasn’t going to put Chenoa through the ordeal of attending church again. Now that I am on my own though...,” his voice trailed off. They sat in silence for a while. Grace was quietly perched in the back and singing a quiet song with Joy. “How about I go tomorrow?” asked Peter.

“Where?” replied Maria

“To church.”

Maria thought about it and tried to put herself in his shoes. “Come when you ready, not before.”

Peter turned to her, gave a big sigh and said, “I’ll come tomorrow. I think I am getting ready to face society again. Can I come with your family though? I would appreciate the support.”

“Yes, certainly. Oh, turn here.” They had arrived at the turning for Joy’s home and Joy’s mother was in the yard sweeping. She looked up and gave a wave as they arrived and went around the back of the wagon to help her little girl. Maria and Peter laughed. Elizabeth had gone to sleep. Joy was so excited about the day her mother had difficulty stopping her talking long enough to express her gratitude to Peter and Maria.

For the rest of the ride Grace sat between Peter and Maria and chattered away while Elizabeth slept. The tree shadows flickered over their faces as the horses plodded their dusty way over to Elizabeth’s house. Peter scooped up the still sleeping Elizabeth and took her into her home. Her father was out in the fields and, by all appearances, Elizabeth was about to become a big sister any day. Her mother was in no shape to carry her. He came back to find Grace now curled up in Maria’s arms. She was looking a little sleepy and her head rested on Maria’s shoulder. It had been a big exciting day and by the time they got back home Grace’s face was flushed with sleep. She barely stirred when Peter scooped up his second sleeping child for the day, carried her in and climbed the ladder up to her attic bedroom before gently laying her on her bed. Maria followed him up the ladder and passed Daisy, her crib and her three horses over to him. He came back downstairs to find Susan preparing the evening meal and he was pleased to be invited to stay. This had been one of the most pleasurable days he had experienced for weeks, and he wasn’t keen for it to end.

While the meal was being prepared he slipped outside to unharness the horses and give them a groom. Once that job was done he grabbed the axe and started splitting wood. It was one of those simple necessary jobs that he enjoyed doing. He loved feeling the flex of his muscle as he swung the axe overhead and the crack of the wood as it splintered in two. Alice came over with her little axe and reduced some of the wood to kindling. He carried the wood in when the call came for dinner, Joanne was sent to fetch her father. Before Peter could eat though he had to sit and have Maria remove three splinters from his fingers. Her smooth hands deftly flicked them out before she thrust a cool flannel in his hands. He was aware of his damp shirt sticking to his back as he tackled the light dinner laid before him. Glancing at the horizon he realised he better head off, a light chill was settling and the first hint of autumn was in the air. After carrying some dishes over to the wash up area he reluctantly said goodbye to his friends, collected up his hat and left. The ten minute walk gave him time to muse over the day. To his consternation he found that one of the most pleasurable parts of the day had been the ride with Maria as they took the children home. He told himself it was because he was missing Chenoa, but that didn’t explain why he enjoyed simply looking at her face, her curly brown hair and bright happy eyes. He shook his head and got onto his chores, firmly shoving the picture of Maria out of his mind. Goodness, he had only buried his wife last month. This must be grief, it certainly wasn’t rational.

Just before he went to bed he penned a letter to his father and enclosed his address.

Back at the Scott farm Maria was also feeling a little disconcerted. She sat on the verandah looking over into the sunset. It had been a long day with preparing the food and activities and playing the games with the children, alongside all the other things her parents depended on her doing. The most enjoyable part of the day though had been the ride with Peter, and that worried her. He was still Chenoa’s husband as far as she was concerned, even if she was now buried. He was a neighbour and a widower having lost a son and wife. He was five years older than her and born in another land with a totally different upbringing from hers. Yet she had felt drawn to him as he told her the tiniest bit about himself. She thought back to when he spoke today. His face was invariably kind, apart from that brief flash of anger she glimpsed today. She could see the anger wasn’t for how he was treated, but how his wife was treated. She saw that he was a man who cared deeply. Also, to be honest, he was very good looking. A few of her friends had been rude enough to express disgust over his having an Indian for a wife. “What a pity,” they would say, “he’s so handsome.” Maria had always distanced herself from such gossip, and there was plenty of that nature when they had first arrived. Those malicious girls had never got to know Chenoa and see their happy marriage. That was the other thing. She had seen him as a husband, seen how he spoke to Chenoa, seen the way he looked at her and how he moved around her. She had even glimpsed the odd sweet kiss. She had quickly realised she was fortunate to be friends with such a nice couple and that was where her difficulty lay. She still saw him as a married man, yet he no longer was. He was now single.

Maria sighed, unaware that at the same time Peter was facing a losing battle by trying not to think about her. Both of them went to bed that night arguing with themselves over the entire situation.